


Come As You Wish

by Baneberry



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Come Eating, Come Inflation, Gluttony, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Rough Oral Sex, Size Difference, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 07:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4779803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swindle's found some more uses for one of his bodyguards, Dirge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come As You Wish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dirge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dirge/gifts).



> Fic for [Dirge](http://6thclone.tumblr.com/). It was pretty fun to write; lots of nice kinks.
> 
> Anyway! Onto the show! /waves top hat and walks off stage/
> 
> [Tumblr link](http://captainbaneberry.tumblr.com/post/128884198418/come-as-you-wish-baneberry-transformers): because a reblog is always appreciated! （●>ω・）ﾉ

It only made sense that Swindle, a greedy con artist, would hire Dirge, a greedy 'Con, to work alongside him as his bodyguard.

While their interests and prerogatives in life were very similar, that often led to the occasional clash--Dirge wanted more than the fair amount he was given, and Swindle was too stingy to give it to him. Fortunately, the clone was satisfied with most material wealth outside money, and could be sated with things Swindle deemed unimportant or junk. And though Thrust tended to whinge and complain, he usually sulked it off, so at least he was fairly low maintenance.

Still, that meant Swindle had two more mouths to feed on a very limited budget. Not that he was hurting for money--he was just a cheapskate. Get what you needed, not what you _wanted_. The clones worked for their paychecks all right, but if there was any way to squeeze more outta them without having to increase their share...

Soon enough, Swindle found his answer. And Dirge--well, under normal circumstances, anyone else would be offended, or outright quit. But Dirge rather liked the idea, and warmed up to it fast.

It wasn't an everyday thing. A service provided only when the piggybank was a little low. Or, at least, low in Swindle's terms. Which meant it was _never_ full enough. They need only find neutral ground by a populated city--be it on Cybertron or some alien homeworld--with a shady reputation and let the money flow right on in.

There was only one rule: the identities of the clients would remain anonymous, and unknown even to Dirge. It was a policy his customers highly respected. Dirge wasn't even allowed to see their faces, let alone get any sort of name. In fact, the less talking the better--it was kind of pointless, anyway, considering a wall seperated all but their units from the clone. Besides, can't talk with a mouthful, and Dirge was never a conversationalist to begin with.

So, a nice, quick blowjob through a glory hole for a reasonable price suited Swindle and Dirge just fine. There were usually at least ten clients, at most; Swindle couldn't advertise much, and relied on underhanded tactics to get the word out. The customers just needed to have money and be clean.

Tonight there were five clients; not bad, but not as much as the two Decepticons would have wanted. But Dirge would be content with only one; his greed was as vast as it was desperate. The bar always low.

Dirge need only wait fifteen minutes before the first customer came in. The single hole in the wall adjusted depending on sizes. This was a medium-sized mech, probably some large grounder. Nothing extraordinary; white with yellow biolights and blue stripes.

Dirge leaned over in his pillow and went to work.

Dirge ran his tongue in slow laps along the unit, testing for any sensitive spots. When he licked the nodes on the underside closest to the head, the unit twitched and he heard a vague moan. So he found this mech's special spot-- Dirge wrapped his claws around the base, holding the unit still as his tongue rubbed each node, one at a time.

Dripping with coolant, Dirge wrapped his lips around the head, suckling it, one of the nodes massaging against his bottom lip. The mech groaned. He almost curled his tongue around the head before bowing forward, taking a few more inches. His throat tubes easily stretched, quickly accommodating the girth. Nothing big--not yet, at least. His tongue remained lathering and wiggling against the underside, the tender buds, and the mech sounded faint when Dirge pulled his lips back with a loud, hard suck. He dove in again, this time much slower, still focusing on running those nodes in the fold of his tongue.

In the end, Dirge barely had to do much blowing in this blowjob. The torment and teasing to the nodes ultimately sent the mech off the edge, and he gave a small whimper before overloading inside Dirge's mouth. The clone wrapped his lips tight around the head, swallowing hungrily, suckling out any last droplet he could milk from the unit.

It wasn't uncommon for bodily fluids to have a certain scent and flavor depending on the fuel and energon the clients consumed. Dirge liked them sweet, mostly. Unfortunately his clients were mechs with dead end jobs or penny-pinchers, so they mostly drank common swill. This mech was no different; the taste was bland, boring. Not a very good starter, but there was plenty of it. The transfluid was warm as it poured down the back of his throat and into his growling, eager belly.

Dirge sat back, smile on his face, claws rasping against his abdomen. The next customer came five minutes later. This one was slimmer but longer, probably belonged to a sleek, gangly frame; possibly a flier. But no complaints. It was mostly pink, no biolights, just very simple and pretty. Dirge ran his finger along each side, top and bottom, before digging the very edge of his claw carefully into the slit. The moan from his client sent a shiver down his backstrut, and unable to contain himself, he dove forward, taking half the cord in almost one go.

The client was whimpering, unit shaking in Dirge's mouth. He moved fast, pushing right to the base and pulling to the head. Never completely out. After six hard pumps, his pace slowed, and his customer whined. He smirked around the cord before lunging again, hard, and his teeth scraped along the top side, giving the tip a little nibble. Dirge sat back, playfully licking the underside, the slim cord bouncing against his hardworking tongue. He slipped it back between his lips, cheeks hollowing as he started viciously pumping once more.

When Pink overloaded, Dirge was both pleased and not entirely surprised to find the transfluid, shooting in thin but plentiful spurts down his throat, was much sweeter. It only seemed fitting for a cute unit. Like a small glass of fruity engex; nothing too powerful, just enough to give it a little kick. He licked the slit clean to show his appreciation.

Dirge's tank was close to half full when the third client pushed through the hole. The clone recoiled from shock; the hole itself was almost too small to fit the entire unit. It was big--very big, and very thick, belonging to a mech equally so. Its biolights pulsed and throbbed, underside black and top a mossy green.

 _This_ was Dirge's favorite.

Dirge placed his hands on the unit; they couldn't even encircle the whole thing. It was too big for his mouth, but that's what made this so much fun. Because while Dirge could settle for less, he always preferred _more_. Besides, this wasn't his first time blowing a big, fat mod like this. Dirge sized it up again before sitting back; he rolled his jaw, small clasps unlocking with quiet clicks.

Dirge slowly took the head in his mouth. A few more inches, and his slightly unhinged jaw widened, showing stretched actuator and hydraulic cables. He couldn't take the whole thing, unfortunately, but damn near half. He could only imagine the look on his client's face; probably didn't think he'd get more than a double handjob.

But nothing was ever too little for Dirge. Too little or too small; too big or too wide. Dirge drew his unhinged mouth back, while his hands stroked the rest of the unit. They met in the middle, in slow, heavy pumps, Dirge's tongue pressed uselessly to the bottom of his unlatched jaw. The exposed cables relaxed as he slipped back, strained as he slid forward. The speed was agonizingly slow, but Dirge simply needed a minute to warm up.

Dirge's jaw burned, just a little, but nothing that hurt. His hands tightened, kneading into the fat unit. His head bobbed, faster now, and the mech gave a deep, guttural moan from the other side of the wall. Dirge let him go, rolled his jaw again; took a few minutes just to lick and caress the edge of the unit, his hands continuing their same pace.

This one would take a while, and that sent Dirge's spark reeling with excitement. He hoped this mech tasted just as fun. Ten minutes later, and the biolights running jagged down the unit lit up, signaling approaching overload. Dirge pushed as much of the fat thing in his mouth as possible, clenching tight-- When the mech overloaded, Dirge struggled to keep up swallowing all the transfluid. There was so much of it, and he didn't want to waste a single drop. Some trickled in thin lines from the corners of his widened jaw.

The transfluid was almost an endless stream of... Well, another bland mech with bland taste. But at least he provided a lot of it. Dirge could feel his tanks fill to the brim, but continued swallowing to the very end. When the mech finally finished, withdrawing first, the Seeker quickly licked his lips clean, wiping off some of the smeared fluid and lapping it off his fingers with vigorous joy. He bowed down to sip up a few droplets not yet soaked into the fabric of his pillow.

Waste not, want not.

The fourth cord came not even two minutes later. Another common grounder. Dirge adjusted and snapped his jaw back into place, massaging until the burn finally settled into a numb tingle. He leaned forward, grunting; oh, his tanks were fuller than he thought. Ah, well. He playfully flicked the head of the cord with a giggle, worrying bottom lip between teeth. This one had cables--not as common, in the end.

Dirge kissed along the cables, one on each side. He nibbled their edges, but found the left cable was more sensitive than its right twin. He managed to pry just a little inch of his tongue between the cable and unit, biting down with just the perfect amount of pressure. Dirge returned the favor to the other cable, having to nibble just a little harder to elicit the same reaction. He dragged his teeth up the cable, to the head; took it in his mouth and started to suck.

Dirge figured this unit would be a quickie. It sure seemed sensitive enough. But... Turned out the mech was harder to get off than the giant before him. It was starting to get a little frustrating; the ache in his jaw actuators returned. He used all his effort, sucking hard, sucking soft; moving fast, moving slow, even helping with both hands firmly wrapped and squeezed around the damn thing. It just didn't seem to be enough, and Dirge almost felt like he could relate.

He wasn't going to give in. Dirge's knees ached, even pressed on the pillow; his tank was bloated and heavy, pushing down against abdominal armor. It was getting a little uncomfortable; he rocked from one knee to the other, still pumping that unit in his mouth, way past his intakes and nestled deep in his overworked throat.

The mech didn't even make a sound when he _finally_ overloaded. It came (no pun intended) as a surprise; suddenly, transfluid filled Dirge's mouth, choking him. His wings flared and hiked and he quickly swallowed. And-- Oh, but the payoff was so worth it. This guy either had expensive taste or just an expensive dinner, because his transfluid was the most delicious Dirge had tasted by far. Might even make the top ten.

Dirge moaned and whimpered, determined to suck out as much of that tasty transfluid as possible. He ignored the ache from his strained tank; it couldn't take much more. There was a chance it would rupture--but Dirge was used to it. The pain, and the fact his tanks had more than once split or torn. Nothing fatal, so long as he got immediate attention, and usually it was a quick fixer-upper.

Dirge groaned, disappointed, when the mech finished overload, pulling out. He sighed and sat back, placing a hand over his abdomen. There was a slight bulge; he smiled fondly, stroking the little bump.

The fifth (and to be final for the night) unit pushed through the hole.

It was almost as big as number three.

Dirge's optics widened. He blinked, turning his shocked gaze to the Heavens. He whispered an inaudible "thank you."

\---

Swindle decided to wait another half hour before closing shop.

As he set the ship back on course to the nearest trade outpost, he headed back to check on his bodyguard. All the while giggling like a child as he sifted through the credit bills. Might have been a dry spell tonight, but he made just enough to keep him happy for a while.

"All finished, baby," Swindle snickered as he approached the wall. He pushed it aside, folding it up. "No complaints this--" The Decepticon's already giant optics managed to widen even more.

Dirge groaned, reclining back in his pillow, both hands pressed against the noticeable bulge in his abdomen.

"Y'know, you can _spit_ ," Swindle said. "I left a bucket there for a reason."

"No... Not gonna waste... single drop..." Dirge grumbled. He looked sick, but there was a pleased, proud glimmer in his dim, hooded optics.

Swindle smirked. "Your stupidity can be so endearing," he teased. He approached the Seeker, falling to one knee. "But if you ruptured anything, so help me--"

"No," Dirge grumbled, then made a sound akin to a belch, "no r-ruptures." His HUD cleared any damage; nothing to report. He groaned and stroked his belly again.

"Good thing you got all that malleable armor," Swindle said. He reached over, placing a hand over the bulge. Dirge was too tired to smack him away. "Look at you, though. Kinda sad. But you did a good job tonight, so..." Both hands were on his distended abdomen now, and he started to gently knead into the bent armor. Dirge whimpered. "You deserve your reward."

Money would probably be better, buuuut... Swindle was a swindler. He knew how to manipulate. He sat behind Dirge, arms wrapped around him, his fingers pushing into the bloated tanks. Dirge hiccuped. "That feels good?" he asked, smirked. "You're a weirdo. But you come cheap..."

Dirge winced as Swindle started to playfully jiggle the rolls. "This is actually kind of fun," he snickered. He pinched and tugged and the clone hissed. "Should I get Thrust in here? Bet he'll be so jealous at all this attention I'm giving you."

" _Nnh_ \--"

Swindle smacked his belly, and Dirged yelped. "Wait, wait, how about this," he said. He moved back around, sliding between the Seeker's legs. Without warning, he bowed down, rubbing and damn near motorboating his face into the bulge.

Dirge squeaked, but a smile ghosted his face. "S-Stop..."

Swindle did stop--a few seconds later. He sat up, hands braced to the belly, again kneading like a cat getting ready for sleep. "So, you gonna let it burn out or purge? I wonder if I applied just a little more pressure--"

Dirge scowled and grabbed Swindle by the wrist. "Don't," he growled threateningly.

Swindle blinked. "Guess you'll burn it off then," he laughed. Once his hand was let go, he gently patted the sides of the bulge. "Y'know, we should get some pictures..." He sat back, stroking his chin. "There's a market for people out there who like this kinda stuff... We could make a pretty shanix or two..."

Dirge squinted. "... I want copies."


End file.
